Like any treasure stumbled upon in any nook of the kingdom, the lamp had been turned in to the royal exchequer. A voice had cried out from within the lamp from the moment a pair of eyes had paused on it – “Name your three wishes and set me free!”
But, if the artefact belonged to the King, could the jinn’s three wishes have a different owner?
With the sun trekking towards the zenith and time towards noon, the King held the lamp in his hands and beheld the confined jinn.
“Salutations, my King. I have been trapped for eons in this dismal little lamp. Would you, Sire, kindly kindle the light of freedom and lasting peace for me? Could you oblige me by taking off my hands the three wishes that I’m encumbered to grant?”
“Three wishes, eh?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“What kind of wishes – material, spiritual, or, even better, divine?”
“We mortals are only capable of the material, Sire.”
“And what do you mean by the ‘light of freedom and lasting peace?’”
“I’m the last in a line of jinns, Sire, one, who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, sell his wishes. I’ve outlived all my near and dear ones, and, in the process, seen them all die and heard each final goodbye.”
“Am I to understand that granting me the wishes will end you?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“You want me to kill you?”
“No, Sire. I am requesting you to relieve me of life.”
The King was puzzled. He had just returned from signing an announcement that was to be tom-tomed around the kingdom. It promised half of the kingdom to anyone who could bring forth the elixir.
“Material wishes?” he queried aloud, though the question was a cue to his own thinking.
The situation of his father won the thought tussle in the King’s mind. The retired monarch had been suffering from a condition that caused him to tremble endlessly, leaving him incapable of gripping things or walking by himself. This had consigned him to the care of the retainers, a pitiful state for a man who once retained the reins of an entire kingdom.
“Here is my first wish: I want to be hale and hearty till the moment I die, completely independent and self-reliant.”
Having folded his hands and mumbled a chant, “granted,” responded the jinn.
The King now was enraptured by the wish-making and was pacing about the room, walking finally into a night in his study, his head bent over the writings of his grandfather, whom he had never seen. The grandfather had been the founder of the dynasty, and had risen from the rank of an army commander to the post of its commander in chief. In his journals, the veteran had recorded those moments of desperation when adversity had kept him from helping his kin, who in turn had kept away from him. He had also documented the confluence of his rising affluence and his gaining and retaining of friends.
“My second wish,” began the King, pausing as if to proofread the draft words on his mind, “is for my dynasty to never have to face a resource crunch and be forever materially prosperous.”
After a mumbo-jumbo encore, the jinn smiled, not the least bit bemused by the nature of the wish, “granted. It is my duty, Sire, to humbly suggest that you make the best use of the next wish, which happens to be last I can grant.”
The King returned the smile, before setting off on his next sally. As the King’s mind trotted, cantered and galloped through the landscape of his various experiences, ideas and fantasies, the halt came at his mother’s annual grieving over the death of his elder brother, one more relative who was late by the King’s birth. The King turned to the jinn; one look and the feelings weighed down the King's heart further.
“Here is my third and final wish,” the King started, “I want to be the first to die of all the people I know, no matter how I know them and how well.”
The jinn nodded in sympathy with the King. Even as the magical being uttered “granted,” he had begun to scatter into the surroundings, de-spelled and dispelled upon demise.
The King put the lamp on a table and headed back into his chamber.
That evening, the court was in session and everyone rose to greet the King. The King took his seat on the throne that was the focus of the court hall. Sceptre in hand, a benign smile on his lips, he passed away.
At the funeral service, the King was eulogised by his Prime Minister and not his best friend, whom the King had fingered for the purpose in the event of his death. A few moments after the King’s passing away, the best friend too had died.
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